


Spilled Milk

by Blue_Cat



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, M/M, mention only, mild dccoldwave, very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8639038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Cat/pseuds/Blue_Cat
Summary: It’s ass o’clock in the morning and he’s freezing his balls off out on Snart’s porch





	

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely inspired by horchatita’s short from a few days ago, found here:
> 
> http://horchatita.tumblr.com/post/153483229885/mick-being-a-surrogate-big-brother-to-lisa
> 
> gave me all the big-brother-Mick feels :3

Mick knocks on the door. And then again. Harder. Because it’s ass o’clock in the morning and he’s freezing his balls off out on Snart’s porch when he _knows_ the bastard’s right inside. And goddammit he’s been up all night and all he really wants is a horizontal surface to smash his face into and be unconscious on for the next day or two.

He’s about to start yelling, neighbors be damned, when the door finally swings open. He’s ready to set a nasty scowl on Snart for making him wait out in the cold so he’s a little baffled when there’s no one there to greet him. Then there’s a cough and he looks down. Way down.

“What the hell are you doing opening the door by yourself?”

Lisa, decked out in her bubblegum pink princess pajamas and squinting up at him through a mop of long hair that’s probably got even more knots than it has curls, gives him an unimpressed look. It’s straight out of Snart’s own repertoire, as is her smart-ass attitude when she says “I saw it was you from the window, Mick.”

“Still shouldn’t be opening the door,” he maintains as he follows her in. Pretty sure that’s one of those safety rules they talk about on Lisa’s T.V. programs. Don’t talk to strangers, look both ways before crossing the street, stay in school, so on. All those thing he never did excel in himself.

He takes a minute to picture what his therapist(s) might do if they could see this moment. Scrawny Lisa Snart, who barely comes up to his elbow, acknowledging him as such a non-threat that she has no problems turning her back and leading him into her kitchen. They’d probably shit themselves.

Lisa climbs onto one of the mismatched chairs at the kitchen table. She’s got her whole set-up there; backpack half-open, papers and crayons scattered around her. Looks just like her brother, just with schoolwork instead of bank blueprints. And, of course, the open jar of peanut butter at her side. Snart never remembers food.

“Peanut butter for breakfast?” he asks, watching her dig through the jar with a spoon.

“Couldn’t reach the cereal.”

Typical Lisa; can’t even wait the half-second it would take her brother to get it for her. Speaking of…

“Where is your brother?” Mick asks as he mindlessly fetches the cereal from the top cabinet. He grabs a handful for himself before passing the box over to her.

Lisa ditches her peanut butter spoon for the cereal and then the bowl he hands her. She starts rooting through the fridge for some milk, preferably not yet expired, when she remembers to answer, “In his room.”

“Getting dressed?” Mick asks, in a hopefully not _too_ eager tone as he side-eyes Snart’s closed bedroom door.

“No.”

Pity. “Working?”

“No.”

He tries to think of what else Snart would be doing that would keep him behind the closed door of his room instead of out playing parental-figure-of-the-year like he loves so much. He quickly decides it’s way too early for thinking. “What’s he doing then?”

“He’s lying down.” Lisa hands him the milk and he checks the date mechanically (still good) before unscrewing the cap.

“Lying down?” Mick parrots incredulously. The thought of Snart lying down at all, much less on a morning Lisa has school, actually gives him pause.

“Yeah.” Lisa pushes her bowl of cereal towards him in a silent demand and he’s just started to pour the milk in when she says, “He won’t get up. He was fighting with Daddy last night.”

Mick doesn’t hear the milk bottle clatter against the tabletop, or Lisa’s outcry at the spill. He’s through Len’s door in the next minute and at his bedside. There’s a cocoon of blankets curled up in the center of the mattress that doesn’t stir at the noise of his boots. Didn’t so much as twitch when the doorknob cracked against the wall either and Mick’s heart is in his fucking throat.

He can’t remember if it’s okay to move people who are unresponsive or not. Could that make it worse? Or was that only for head injuries? Fuck, he can’t even see Len’s head, maybe it is a head injury. God _dammit_. He should have fucking been here. They _knew_ Lewis was back in town, they knew he was keeping tabs. But Len had sent him out to the docks anyway. Staking out some stupid job that’ll mean absolutely _nothing_ if he’s…if Lenny’s…

He’s decided to shake him awake, consequences be damned 'cause he can't just do _nothing_ , when he hears it. Mick freezes, because it can’t really have been…He tilts his head closer, stays quiet, listens past the sound of his blood pounding in his ears and the wet squelching of Lisa cleaning up the spill in the kitchen and; he doesn’t believe this.

There, muffled through three layers of thick quilts and bedding, snoring. He’s fucking _snoring._ He’s _asleep,_ this fucking punk. This drama-queen-even-while-unconscious waste of space little _shit_. Mick’s gonna kill him. He’s gonna murder him and he’ll fucking deserve it. Probably shaved a decade off Mick’s life, his heart’s still hammering, what the fuck. He’s pissed and so goddamn relieved.

He’s still debating whether or not to kick him to the floor when Lisa pipes up from the doorway, “Did he wake up?”

“No,” Mick growls back because it occurs to him it’s her fault too, “Why didn’t you tell me he was fucking sleeping?”

She shrugs, “I told you he wouldn’t get up”. Like that’s even _remotely the same thing_.

 

He _hates_ this fucking family.

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna do more but then I was like, Nah. Maybe later.


End file.
